


A Verbis Ad Verbera - From Words To Blows

by fractalserpentine, HopeofDawn



Series: Strangers In A Strange Land [1]
Category: Legacy of Kain, Role-Playing Games
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-25
Updated: 2010-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalserpentine/pseuds/fractalserpentine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeofDawn/pseuds/HopeofDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fledgling Kain, a reborn Raziel, and explosions.  What more do you need?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Verbis Ad Verbera - From Words To Blows

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of explanation: these stories were originally written for a long-running crossover RPG called [ Multiverse Haven](http://multiversehaven.livejournal.com) (now sadly defunct). The basic premise of the game was that characters had been pulled from multiple worlds and marked as Chosen, in order to eventually restore a dying multiverse. Because of this, there may be occasional references to characters from other novels/anime/games. The main focus is on Kain and Raziel and their eventual return to Nosgoth, however, and will eventually weave in and around LoK canon as an entirely separate storyline.
> 
> As a Chosen, Raziel has been plucked from the Reaver and his original vampiric form restored to him--only to be trapped within this strange world called 'Haven', and left subject to the whims of mysterious 'Powers'. Needless to say, this does not go over well ... and now, it seems, the 'Powers' have decided that they require Kain as well ....

It was to be just another night in Haven—boring and routine. Or so Raziel thought, gliding over the lit city buildings with the bored air of a captive creature pacing the confines of his prison. There had been little in the way of activity in Haven of late, most Chosen seeming to have retreated to their homes for the winter.

Most, it appeared, but not all.

It was the screeching of brakes and the sudden crash of metal upon metal that caught his attention first; coming faintly from below, it was unusual enough to merit him swooping downward for a closer look. The placeholders were too mindless to do anything so reckless as to smash their metal machines into one another without Chosen interference, and Raziel found himself curious as to which Chosen was involved. It took only moments to come upon the scene, but none of the ones he had expected were involved in the fracas, but instead someone new. His sight was partially blocked by steam rising from a crushed vehicle, and so he caught little more than a glimpse of flying bone-white hair and pallid skin...but that was enough to make something twang inside him, almost unnoticed.

_Another vampire? _

The armor, Kain thought, was quite possibly beyond repair. The metal had already hissed and steamed away in places, leaving gaps bridged only faintly to his eyes by the glimmer of hell-borne enchantment. This newest insult was perhaps its final -- the... the war chariot had crushed every major plate along one side and, he was certain, thoroughly shattered the ribs beneath.

At least the chariot seemed incapable of righting itself -- indeed, it belched acrid fumes, and Kain hoped fervently that it was slain. The not-humans within were quickly fading, but more carriages had screeched to a halt, leaving blackened burns behind their wheels, and these disgorged more not-humans, who cried out with astonishment and concern. Several rushed towards him, their hands outstretched, as if they wished to aid him.

Kain obliged them. With a gesture and a painfully hissed word, he seized upon the liquid that pulsed in their veins. The fluid answered his call as easily as did any human blood, though the Reaver, trapped between his back and the strangely rough black surface, crackled furiously as his energies were depleted. Hot blood lent its own steam to the crisp air as it jetted up, bursting free of its mortal vessels, shearing through fragile skin to hang in the air as thick, pinkish mist.

The steam was hardly sufficient to disguise what had happened to the placeholders as they had rushed to their fellows' aid—almost as one they dropped as gouts of blood flew through the air. Raziel stopped short, backwinging furiously at the sight of a spell that he had only ever seen Kain use regularly. Had Kain returned? He dropped to the roof of a nearby vehicle, abandoned by its now-dead owner, and crouched there, peering through the haze of blood and smoke.

The creature he saw there did not wear the visage he expected. The warrior was pale, with the black-taloned hands and fierce yellow eyes of a Nosgothian vampire, and wearing armor that was now a great deal worse for the wear. And the weapon that it bore ... Raziel stared in shock, hardly comprehending what he saw.

He knew that face—it was the face that had greeted him upon his fledging, the first face he'd seen in his new unlife. It was Kain, but...but young, barely more than a fledgling himself! Raziel could barely feel the power that he knew resided within his Sire, so unlike the dark wash of strength he was used to. His mouth formed the name silently as he remained where he was, utterly still and suddenly uncertain. Kain.

The not-humans shrieked as they fell, dissolving even as their blood coagulated into jets. Kain had to push himself off the black ground, jaws gaping, to receive the fluid drawn to him. Even so, much of the blood escaped, either vanishing like the bodies or lost in hot spatters on the ground as his telekinetic grip finally failed.

It was possible, Kain supposed as he wiped the gore from his lips, that he had indeed been lost to madness. Neglecting for a moment the chariots, the mountainous buildings -- for these could perhaps be artifacts of either past or present -- in what deranged world did the slain simply disappear? Had the pillars called another Mentalist, one potent enough to warp even Kain's senses?

Sharp, short nails gouging into the black tar-like surface, Kain made an effort to regain his feet, staggering upright as his broken ribs cut deeper within him. The blood he'd taken would mend his wounds -- would have, save that his own armor still compressed his side, preventing the natural realignment of his flesh. The entire breastplate would have to be removed, though it was obvious the bulky armor could no longer be slipped over his head. The Reaver resonated softly as he reached up to the plate-concealed buckles at the shoulder.

The leather straps were stiff with cold and disuse, and after a few tries, Kain finally took to slitting through them. The armor would provide him no further benefit, damaged as it was. There was a heaviness in the air, as if before lightning, and Kain understood that he'd have to move quickly. More chariots, or even yet more dangerous beasts, might come upon him at any moment.

Raziel watched as the fledgling vampire struggled with his broken armor, apparently unaware of his presence. That alone was unnerving...in all the years of his existence, he had never been able to approach his Sire unknown, even as a wraith. It had vexed him often in the early years of his unlife, and supported Kain's apparent omniscience....an omniscience that now seemed lacking.

This new incarnation of Kain must have been taken from early in Nosgoth's history. How early remained to be seen; and there was also the Reaver. Raziel found it hard to look at the blade that was to become his prison directly—his eyes kept sliding away, back to that too-young face. But he could feel the thrum of the Reaver's power along his bones, deep inside, a faint call that had not become compulsion. Yet.

Raziel took in a breath, and steadied his voice—then spoke, summoning the other vampire's attention. "Kain." The name was question and command all in one.

The voice, echoed by metal and mist, rose and *now* Kain resorted to snapping the plates of his own armor away, thrusting the hardened tips of his nails between the joints to peel the hauberk off like a second skin. For with it he could not move, could not fight -- and some more dangerous beast had indeed found him.

The electric tang on the air was neither ozone nor lightning, but pure puissance: power made manifest.

The Reaver hummed lowly as he brought it to hand, firming his stance to conceal weakness as his ribs aligned and, ever so slowly, mended. The blade's cool glow was no reassurance -- it cast shadows from the sulfurous smoke, suggesting figures where there were none.

Kain drew a slow breath, and the acrid reek tore at his throat, but his lungs were no longer punctured, no longer choked with his own blood. "Reveal yourself..." and he paused. The power... was not the same as he'd felt before, in Vorador's presence, and yet.... "vampire," he finished. Or at least, something very like a vampire.

Raziel tensed as Kain brought the Reaver to bear, but did not move. "Move out from the carnage you have wrought, and you shall see me easily enough," he replied dryly, showing nothing of his inner qualms.

There -- was it...? But no, not at his level, but rather atop one of the halted chariots, perhaps some faint suggestion of a form.

A billow of ashy smoke obscured the carriage once more, and Kain stepped back cautiously, angling around the worst of the brume. Yes -- eyes, as murderously golden as his own, stared back from the gloom. The crouched vampire was at least trebly armed -- the line of a sword glinted at its side and the hilts of two more weapons, curved and elegantly tapered, were visible over its shoulders. More than this, Kain could not make out, but the other vampire was clearly concerned neither by the chariot beneath it, nor by Kain himself.

If there were some architect to this mad realm, a puppeteer behind the strings of the creatures that infested this dimension, Kain had assuredly found him.

"Who are you? What is your intention here?"

It *was* Kain, armed with the Reaver—there was no mistaking it now. Raziel dropped down from his erstwhile perch, straightening upwards and searching his sire's face for any signs of recognition. There were none to be found; only the wariness of a younger vampire confronting an unknown elder.

"I am Raziel," he said simply, answering Kain's question. "As for intentions—at the moment, satisfying my curiosity will suffice." He paused, thinking of what he dared ask. Would he be courting another paradox if he revealed who he truly was to this younger incarnation of Kain? "You are....Kain. Also from Nosgoth, correct?"

_Also from... _ What was this, then, if not Nosgoth? "Yes," Kain replied carefully, letting the point of the Reaver drop a little. Brandishing the sword in direct threat was itself a weakness, at least while the elder vampire held no overt weapon.

And this... this 'Raziel' was indeed an ancient. His hands were split into the same massive talons Vorador had sported. But while that old hedonist had secreted himself like a spider in its web, this ancient seemed swifter, more alert -- infinitely more deadly. "It would seem you know of me, ancient," he said.

Raziel could not help the somewhat ironic smile that had battled its way to the surface. This whole situation...even for one who had travelled through time, he had never expected to meet Kain in such a way. "Somewhat, yes. It is...rather complicated, but you have become...infamous, to say the least."

Kain could not say he was surprised. He'd spent nearly his entire undead existence scouring Nosgoth, both for histories of the pillars and for a hint that the human crusaders had overlooked any of his kind. Of the latter, he'd found none at all. Now in a single night, he'd discovered two vampires -- two enormously powerful, ancient vampires, -- both of whom inexplicably seemed to know him.

At least _this_ elder had not attacked him on sight. Kain supposed that was a point to his benefit. If Raziel could be taken back to Nosgoth's present era, he'd make a potent ally... or the direst kind of enemy. He was almost certainly older than any other vampire Kain had met -- perhaps centuries old.

The overturned chariot, Kain noted with absently, had begun to bleed. He hoped that meant it would stay dead -- far too many creatures were capable of rising up behind him, after he thought them slain.

"Are you Vorador's antecedent, or his progeniture?" Kain asked. Raziel's visage was certainly as fine as that of any of the decadent old vampire's brides -- slightly slanted eyes, high cheek bones, perfect severe symmetry -- the kind of remote grace that transcended species and race.

"...Vorador?" Now there was a name he had not heard in an age. The irony of his own sire mistaking him for one of Vorador's get was almost overwhelming. "Neither," Raziel said sardonically. "I claim a different lineage."

_....Different?_ But there had never been vampires on Nosgoth unrelated to Vorador, save perhaps Kain himself. There were, of course, other races, and though Kain did not have the evidence to truly understand how they interacted across Nosgoth's vast history, he at least had learned of their existence. Kain might assume that 'Raziel' was indeed a vampire, simply from his appearance and that dark aura of power... but then, he hadn't exactly encountered many under anything but unfriendly circumstances. And he knew perfectly well how easy it was to cloak physical appearance within illusion.

Kain's eyes narrowed. "What place is this, then, if not Nosgoth?" He'd seen placards, printed in Nosgoth's commonscript, upon tall poles -- he'd been certain. If this place was not Hell, and not Nosgoth... then it left but one possibility.

"You did not see the missive that was left for you, I take it," Raziel remarked. He wondered how this Kain would react once learning the truth...and from what point in Nosgoth's history he had been stolen. Could it be that this was a Kain taken even before his fateful choice at the Pillars?

"You are in a world called Haven, brought here, like the rest of us, at the behest of creatures who simply call themselves the Powers That Be. They claim," and there was the faintest disbelieving accent on the word 'claim', "-that we have been brought here for own preservation and the preservation of our worlds, who are all fated to die within a short time. The Chosen, as they are called, are apparently required to resurrect their worlds ... and so here you stand, as do I." He gave an offhand shrug, his gaze watchful.

Ah. Now Kain understood, though the implications were... catastrophic. Raziel's tale smacked of every bromidic falsehood ever fed to the mewling masses by evangelicals and cultists. Even the nomenclature was the same: chosen; fate; resurrection. Kain had heard better from the madmen-cum-prophets who stationed themselves at markets and moralized for money. His grip on the Reaver tightened, just a little.

Kain's ribs were knit, and the flush of feeding was spreading through his limbs. He moved slowly, circling to the side and back just a few steps, as if for a better view of the ancient. He halted as the steel-shod heel of his boot crunched in the loose gravel that littered the side of the hardened black river.

"I see," Kain said mildly. "And from which of Nosgoth's ages were you so... brought?"

"None that you would recognize, I'd wager," Raziel said dryly, shifting as Kain did, unwilling to have the Reaver at his back. He did not follow the other vampire's retreat, however, unwilling to spark a confrontation by trying to push even a fledgling Kain into a corner. It was obvious that Kain did not believe him, and while vexsome, it was hardly unexpected. Kain had learned the folly of blind trust from the moment of his making, if the stories Raziel had been told had any truth to them.

"It is perhaps simplest to say that it is very far from yours, it seems," he continued. "Have the Pillars fallen yet?"

And that gave Kain pause. If Raziel was lying, and he had no certain proof of that, but the circumstantial evidence was enormously compelling, then surely the ancient would know perfectly well what had happened to the Pillars -- what was even still happening to them. And even if Raziel was truly another vampire, Kain could risk giving no solid information to the beings trapped in this realm. "The Unspoken is sealed, and shall remain so," Kain stated, watching for a reaction.

The chariot's blood was very strange, and the spreading pool of it seemed almost to smolder with haze. The odor caught painfully in Kain's throat. His lips tightened as he was forced to retreat a step; not away from Raziel, for he could not afford to lose any footing to the loose gravel, but rather back nearer the increasingly blackening smoke. The angle still should be good enough.

Raziel tilted his head, recognizing the evasive answer for what it was. He had also not missed the other vampire's maneuverings—what was Kain playing at? "That does not answer my question," he pointed out. "But I can guess the answer well enough." Regarding Kain steadily, Raziel continued, "For one who has just been told that he is now a prisoner in a different world, you seem to be rather accepting of your captivity." Perhaps the small jibe would evoke some manner of reaction....

"As you seem to be," Kain agreed readily. "But then, I expect you've had _far_ longer to grow used to it." Trapped in a prison dimension... had he seen the tapered hilt of one of Raziel's swords... twitch? Ancient carvings and murals were to be found everywhere in Nosgoth, once one started to look; and there was exactly one race that, from the front perspective, had similar... and that would make sense too, wouldn't it? But he couldn't be certain -- the Reaver's glow had quieted, a little, yet the shadows it cast were still confounding.

The spreading liquid forced him another step aside -- he'd lack enough room for any stratagem, soon, but nor could he risk melting the soles of his boots should this blood prove as toxic as that of the skeletal black demon. If all the creatures of this realm were as lethal as that creature, as palpably powerful as Raziel, then Kain's time here might be very short indeed. He snarled a little, involuntarily baring his teeth at the increasingly insurmountable situation.

"Understanding is hardly acceptance," Raziel retorted, still somewhat wary. This Kain was a great deal weaker, true enough—but he was still off-balance, perturbed, and armed with the Reaver, and Raziel was not about to treat him as easy prey. He suppressed the urge to snarl back, not wishing to aggravate the situation, but his face tightened a bit.

"There are those of us who have not given up looking for true answers beyond the pap fed us by the Powers. But I'm sure you will discover that yourself in time."

Kain's patience, such as it was, reached a terminus. Unless he could somehow escape this twisted dimension, his world would surely fall. Perhaps, without Kain's presence to keep this very prison shut... it already had. And Raziel, whether indeed a vampire, or in truth an Unspoken in that foul masquerade of possession, would only continue attempting to mislead Kain. "Do you believe me so credulous, Hylden?" he hissed.

One swift, hard-muscled leap launched him off the ground, twisting midair to land against the vertical underbelly of the overturned carriage. His heavy metal boots struck sparks and gave him the traction to propel himself off and at Raziel, blade upraised.

Raziel had been expecting something of the sort, though the accusation that came with the attack took him by surprise. His blade hissed from its scabbard and wings flared as he leaped to one side, not wanting to meet the Reaver head-on. "Hylden?" With a vicious swipe, he beat the Reaver blade to one side, slightly amazed at how *easy* it was to overpower his Sire. Behind them, some stray spark of metal upon metal had fallen into the spreading pool of gasoline, and flames erupted, running up the side of the crumpled vehicle and out into the street.

"Do not play the fool—do I *look* like a Hylden to you?" he snarled, and whipped the talons of his free hand across Kain's newly unarmored chest and throat, rending great gouges into the pale flesh. When the younger vampire staggered, he gave no quarter, but sent him flying backwards across the street with a telekinetic blast, into the flames.

Oh, Kain thought, as if from a distance-- the carriage had _exploding flaming_ blood. Of course it did. Was there anything in this entire damned prison dimension that *wasn't* inherently injurious?

The transition to mistform took a moment of concentration, and in that brief second, the blue-hot spattered heat left most of his exposed skin -- and there was plenty of that -- scorched to blackness. The mistform, made difficult to control by waves of rising heat, managed to float just to the edge of the lake of flames before he was forced by exhaustion to collapse back into physical.

At least the flaming fluid that clung to him had been left behind -- allowed to fall through the insubstantial body of mist. Those three parallel rents in his flesh, though, each bone deep or more, would have killed him in seconds, had Kain been human. Without being able to get a good look at the wounds, he suspected they'd take hours to heal, perhaps days. The Hylden, Raziel, had moved... impossibly fast. Faster than any vampire, certainly.

For a moment, Raziel had wondered if he'd killed his own sire. What a paradox that would make! Would he simply pop out of existence like a soap bubble as soon as he returned to Nosgoth? Thankfully, it did not seem that he would have to find out, as he watched Kain reform from mist just outside the flames, still sprawled upon the roadway.

Sword still in hand, Raziel approached the younger vampire warily, crouching down just out of blade's reach. Kain did not look good—between Raziel's talons and the flames, the other vampire had been horribly injured. Raziel had not thought he would be so...delicate, even for being so young.

The gash across his throat, Kain could feel, had been expertly calculated. Though the thick vessels had reknit quickly, he'd still lost blood. Yet as deep as the wound had been -- and still was -- his ability to speak had assuredly been spared. That strange, electric pressure -- Raziel's aura -- approached, the force of presence circling wide around the hot glow to crouch nearby.

Reaver or not, it was... possible this might not be a fight he could win, not without far more magical backup than he could summon at the moment. Perhaps even... not at all.

Kain hissed lowly as he twisted to get his free arm under him. The Hylden was right there, closer than he expected, looking on with something more like amused curiosity than rage. "Of course you are," he growled. Either Hylden or Unspoken -- he wasn't clear about the difference between those races, but both had been sealed by the pillars. Kain was beginning to see why.

"The humans speak common, the signs are written in bloodscript, and..." One of the winged races was feathered, akin to the beings the humans worshiped. The other... "...wings," he hissed.

"You think I am Hylden because of *these*?" Raziel said in disbelief, mantling wings out to their full extension and glancing at them himself, wondering if there was something in their shape he had not seen before. He had never seen any Hylden with wings, but...the memory of the ancient murals he had seen, where the Hylden messiah too had been winged, sprang suddenly to mind. Raziel could not help but laugh bitterly as comprehension dawned.

"How ironic that it should be these that cause you to doubt me," he managed to say, and bit back the rest of the words that wanted to escape. It had been Kain's blood that made him thus, after all... Shaking his head, he said nothing more, but simply dipped talons into his pouch and brought out three blood glyphs, tossing them within Kain's reach.

Kain watched as Raziel moved, muscles stretching smooth and liquid under that ivory hide, spreading the membranous wings he'd only just glimpsed. That pale skin shaded from near-white at the tips, to milky dapples near the heavier supportive spars. They were far bigger than he'd imagined from the murals -- those Hylden had been frequently depicted with stubby, short appendages that barely projected above their shoulders. Though there had been one mural that....

Kain forced himself to his knees as the... Hylden shook his head and tossed three runes of healing to the ground before him. Was this some trap, some... but then, Raziel was surely capable of killing him at any moment; he'd surely not set a snare for prey already in hand. Kain began to entertain the possibility that... he'd made a mistake. Somewhere.

He had to try twice to hook the Reaver's taloned hiltguard on the hidden catches that supported it on his back. "Why... ironic?"

Folding his wings once more, Raziel remained in his crouch, waiting to see if Kain took the help offered. Unable to resist temptation any longer, he replied dryly, "Because it was your doing that I gained them, for one." And then lost them, though he was certainly not about to tell Kain that!

_Was_ Kain's doing, or _would be?_ He'd wasn't capable of gifting any creature with dark unlife, let alone with a Hylden's wings. But presuming for a moment that Raziel was once human, and knew something of the future, how had a vampire been trapped in this dimension? Were the black demons Hylden, then -- warped by their long imprisonment? And of greatest importance of all... "You asked if the Pillars had fallen yet," he said. If they did in the future then... then all of this, everything he'd done, was for nothing at all. "Do they?"

Raziel considered the question. "Before I answer, tell me this...what is the last event that you remember?" He lifted a hand to forestall the inevitable suspicious protest. "I ask only because I do not wish to bore you or myself with recountings of events that we already know of."

Kain allowed himself a low, bitter laugh. When Ariel had offered him that fatal, final choice -- whether to die on his own blade and restore the pillars to purity, or to live and let them molder in their corrupt state, he'd understood that that was not the whole truth of the matter. Nothing was ever so simple.

As of course it wasn't -- Kain's race would die with him, and though for some years Kain viewed his state as little more than a curse, the oldest tomes of history viewed the process quite differently. The so-called ancients had apparently sought a human capable of receiving the dark gift, and for any ancient capable of gifting it, for centuries. There was something about his condition that was... more important than just that, something vital to the planet, to the pillars themselves.

And to the dimension, and the creatures, the pillars kept imprisoned. War was coming, an ages-long battle still in the making, and one for which the world was wholly unprepared. Not only would the planet have to be united in purpose -- under Kain's rule, naturally -- but the existence of vampirekind was somehow crucial. And also impossible, so long as hunters and crusaders still scoured every corner of the land.

Which all sounded like very fine justification for Kain's continued existence. But there were moments when, standing over yet another failed fledgling's corpse, or found that a few more broken fragments of the pillars had fallen, he... wondered.

And doubted. The fate of the world hung of the advisedness of his every deed -- how could he not second-guess himself?

And so, the last event. He could speak of the last battle with the hunters, or of gleaning droplets of knowledge from scraps of dust-dry scrolls. But in all truth, at the heart of the matter, what it all came down to? "Eight years ago, I walked away from the Pillar's sacrifice," he said.

Raziel's eyes widened a bit, though he showed no other reaction. Kain's words confirmed what he had guessed, but...so young! His sire would not be even a decade old, if he remembered correctly.

Inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment of the answer, he said, "Then you know what happened to the Pillars at the moment of that choice. Since then, they have eroded almost to nothing, and Nosgoth has decayed with them."

"I have made no choice," Kain hissed, fist clenched briefly. "Or rather, none other than to seek a third option." There had to be one. Somewhere -- somewhen -- in the maddening puzzle that was Nosgoth. And yet, for a very long time, Kain had wondered if this too was a delusion wrought by a hopeful mind. Failing to choose was, after all, a choice itself.

A fact that Raziel was not loathe to point out. "Walking away *is* a choice, as you well know," he said evenly. Raziel knew more about that 'third option' than he cared to reveal, as it was, and so he attempted to divert the conversation onto another track. "In any case, you will find that all your choices have been suspended for a time as long as you are here. Whether you will find that blessing or curse, I do not know."

And again this talk of 'Powers', of simple-minded religious dogma. Kain picked up and considered the three small rune-wrapped vials. There'd once been many of these throughout Nosgoth, and they'd been of very great use. He'd employed the last of his own supply some years ago, during a three-month running battle through the crags north of Malek's bastion, when an entire contingent of Willendorf troops had caught him there during the winter storms. The sleet had rendered escape by flight impossible.

The vials clinked softly as he rolled them, one over the other, in his palm.

But... presume, just for a moment, that he believed Raziel. Presume that Nosgoth's language and alphabet had been transcribed to this dimension. Presume -- swallow without question -- the coincidence of Raziel's presence, his age, his species, his knowledge of past and present. "And what of your... 'Powers That Be'. They have presented you some proof of their claims? Some tangible evidence, perhaps?"

Raziel snorted. "Them? Hardly. They have given no evidence of their claims whatsoever, barring their imprisonment of myself and others in this place." A trickle of anger leaked out, lessened not a whit by the length of his stay thus far. "The only proofs I have found is that they are indeed too powerful for me to attack headlong." The admission was a hard one to make, and he thought it likely this incarnation of Kain would see it as a weakness, but it had to be said. "They claim they have created this world, and it is truly tiny—I crossed the span of it in a little over a month of travel. They also keep us from killing others in this little menagerie of theirs, although other than that they seem to have little regard as to the welfare of their captives."

Kain considered carefully, brushing his free hand with little effect at the crust of char and gore coating the pink, half-healed skin along his flank and back. He had, at one time, thought himself quite clever for discovering how to put himself out once his flesh had caught fire; Vorador's brides after all had never managed that trick, much to Kain's amusement some years ago, when he still frequently wielded an arcane blade of flame. But though mistform would deny a blaze foothold in his volatile undead flesh, it did nothing to abrogate the damage that had already occurred.

Being set on fire, that was to say, made a considerable mess.

"And your..." he thought back for the word, "Chosen. Have they, collectively, the power to secure their freedom?"

Raziel shook his head. "Even if they were to somehow come to act as a unified force—a task which seems to me to be almost impossible—I am not sure that they do. The most we might achieve is to deny the Powers our cooperation, which they say they require—but we do that only by putting our worlds at risk, if what the Powers say is true." He straightened from his crouch, looking down at the younger vampire.

"As it stands, many of the Chosen here believe the Powers' words, and will not act against them in any case. Still others remain unconvinced, but unwilling to go to war. And those that remain...search for clues and powers of our own that will allow us to reveal the whole truth of the matter, one way or the other." It did not take much to guess which group Raziel accounted himself a part of.

Kain might've preferred a few more minutes of repose. Regenerating muscles were just beginning to crawl in slow undulation across the voids left in the wake of Raziel's talons. Hunger, freshly ignited, made for its own kind of enervation. But he would not remain on his knees while a creature of such manifest potence looked down on him. Could not.

Standing took a rather great deal of effort, not least to keep the movement as smooth and strong as possible. Kain couldn't even be certain that Raziel was not, in truth, the architect of this domain. It was possible -- Raziel's aura was like a... zone of charge, of pressure, a force palpable before at a distance, and now nearly overwhelming. The *taste* of it made his jaws ache with the urge to bare his teeth in challenge -- even if merely standing did cost him more than he cared to show.

But, in the end, did Raziel's affiliations matter? The ancient claimed to be seeking more information and perhaps an escape; hardly a quest far removed from Kain's own, in Nosgoth. And whether or not Raziel's fatuous story turned out to be true -- though Kain could scent no lie on him, that didn't mean much, given the other's power -- then Kain's own tactics in this situation would differ little. Playing along with the ancient might prove worthwhile.

"Then it seems clear the 'Chosen' are being misled." Kain allowed his eyes to half-lid as he looked out upon the lights of chariots on distant roads, the dull hum of civilization and too many humans -- not-humans -- crammed into far too small a space. "The creatures native here possess neither minds nor souls. If this realm is a portfolio of the Powers' capabilities, it is a poor one; I would not care to see Nosgoth, nor any world, remade at the hands of such unfit creators."

"They would claim that they saw little point in exercising skill on such a transitory world, no doubt," Raziel said sardonically. "Though I think it is quite likely that they simply did not care to give us too plush a cage. "

He glanced away, down the street. "There is ample hunting, if killing false humans—placeholders—who do not even think to run can be called that. Their blood is thin, but it sustains. There is no denying, however, that this world has been created with humans in mind, not vampires." Of course, this Kain would have no memories of the empire he had created, where it had been different—at least for a time. That thought made something tighten painfully in his gut.

The not-humans... Kain suppressed a wince. He'd thought the humans might have been eating offal, except he suspected that would have tasted better. More interesting, at least. "Placeholders? Raziel. For whom do you imagine they hold places?"

"For more captive Chosen, seems to be the general wisdom," came the prompt reply. Raziel tilted his head, glancing at his absurdly young sire. "New arrivals, such as yourself, for example."

"Is it possible your strengths have occluded the use of your mind?" Kain hissed. "There are thousands -- tens of thousands -- of placeholders here. And I have met a single 'Chosen.'"

*That* remark was greeted a raised eyebrow and an expression of bemused condescension. "Oh? How remarkable. And what great span of time have you spent in your search, pray tell? Enough to take the full measure of this world and all its inhabitants?"

Kain grit his teeth. "I hardly need to. If 'Chosen' are but few, and their comings so haphazard, then supplanting all the placeholders would take a very great time." The other vampire had, after all, agreed that he'd been here some time longer than Kain. Even if a new Chosen arrived daily, it would take... decades to replace all the not-humans. The ancient's story grew thinner yet.

"Yes. And the Powers do not seem to be in any great hurry to do so," Raziel agreed, ignoring Kain's temper. "Nevertheless, that is their stated purpose, for all that it matters. You can ask the false-humans themselves, if you like." He gave an offhand shrug. "Ultimately it matters little. I think of them more as golems, in truth."

Kain could not give a whit less about the nature of the not-humans; not unless knowing more might allow him to control them -- and that was indeed a consideration worth entertaining. But he wasn't certain the ancient understood the ridiculousness of the motivations he claimed for his Powers. Perhaps Raziel was slow. "Then your entrapment here would last a very great time, as well. Decades or centuries, perhaps."

"A decade, at the very least, though I often think that the Powers are being overly optimistic in their stated goals," Raziel said evenly. "I would not be surprised if it were longer." In truth, he did not understand the root of Kain's disbelief, simply because he had forgotten how *long* a decade could seem to those who had not lived for far longer...

It was something every new fledgling took time to understand; and Raziel was not used to dealing with a Kain who did not really comprehend how much time he truly had.

Kain paused, supposing he knew where he'd erred. "Are all the other Chosen vampires, then, to live so long?" he asked.

Something in that question made Raziel's eyes darken. "Most are human, but young. They should live a decade without trouble. Longer than that..." He shrugged again, as if to show his indifference to the matter. "That is a problem for the Powers to deal with, should it come to pass. They are, after all, the instigators of it." He wondered briefly if he should tell this Kain of the 'godlike' powers that the Chosen were expected to learn. It did not take him long to decide against it. The younger vampire would not believe it, especially since Raziel had no way of knowing whether it was truth.

Perhaps, Kain thought, it was simply in the nature of elder vampires to develop a certain... phlegmatic sort of disposition as they aged. "Vorador once thought Sarafan witchhunts much too tedious to concern himself with. His complacency served him but little."

Eyes narrowing, Raziel said, "I assure you, I am well capable of concerning myself with matters that pertain to my own interest—and well-versed in hunting those who would hunt me, Sarafan or otherwise. The fate of the Chosen here only affects me inasmuch as I share it; do not expect me to pretend otherwise." He snorted, crossing his arms. "Are you trying to convince me that you have suddenly become a philanthropist, Kain?"

That, at least, had hit something other than imperturbable composition, Kain was certain. Now why would.... "Your Powers present fickle inconsistencies at every turn; this is evidence enough of falsehood, and should be reason enough to arouse your interest." It certainly did Kain's. But why would Raziel care about Vorador, or his death, in even the smallest part? And then his eyes widened. Oh.

It was possible; though he'd seen carvings of a feathered creature by that name, he also knew how twisted and faded even legends became with the passing of ages. At the time, Kain had thought the carving's wings a fanciful addition, something added at the whimsy of the artist. A tendon snaked slowly up the side of the wound in Kain's throat, and he swallowed thickly. "Are you also known as Janos Audron?"

"Janos—" Raziel broke off, eyes wide. Of all the things to be accused of being... He could not help himself. Even knowing how likely Kain was to take offense, he could not stop the rusty laughter from bubbling up in his throat. He laughed out loud, shaking his head ruefully.

"No, Kain. I do not aspire to such heights," Raziel said wryly, a certain amount of wistfulness touching his words. He had only known Janos for a matter of moments ... but he still sometimes wished he had been given more time with the Ancient. There had been so much to learn .... "I am merely Raziel, and nothing more."

Kain's eyes narrowed. Janos Audron -- older than any of the histories, but either revered or despised in them as the sole sire of all Kain's kind; the only possible exception being Kain himself. So if Raziel was not one of Vorador's, and not the icon of legend, then... then what? Was it possible that Janos had brethren? "But you are... contemporary with him," he said.

With some trepidation, for Kain's own blood still coated Raziel's claws like a macabre maquillage, he extended his palm and the three small vials. "Then," he said, "mayhaps I had best keep these scars." For the day or so they'd last, at any rate.

Raziel tilted his head, regarding first the vials, then Kain himself. He had not thought his sire was much into self-flagellation ... but if that is what he wanted, who was Raziel to deny him? Still suspicious of some trick, he plucked the vials from Kain's palm, using extra care so that his talons did not gouge into fragile pale flesh.

A paradox ... Kain's very existence here would create it anew, unless Haven was truly set apart from Nosgoth's tyrannous history. There seemed little point in playing coy; and while it might have been easier to allow him to believe that Raziel was also an ancient, Raziel found it grated against his very nature. He was who he was, firstborn and blood of Kain's blood. He would not hide behind lies.

Shaking his head slowly, Raziel said, "No, Kain. I am not an Ancient. My making will not happen for several centuries to come, by your reckoning; well past the time in which you made your decision to walk away from the Pillars."

The tips of Raziel's talons were dry, smooth, very careful. The backwash of power left a faint electric echo on Kain's skin. Even in life, Kain only rarely apologized, and generally only when it gained him something. Since his death, he'd never even bothered. He felt regret over his deeds little enough to begin with, and it burdened him more rarely still as the years turned. Perhaps it was a human emotion, some defect or incompleteness of Kain's making -- and assuredly a misplaced gesture as well if Raziel bore no relation to the venerated ancients.

Kain withdrew his hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the place the talons had brushed. And yet... he didn't think he had ever touched another vampire before, elder or otherwise, -- at least, not with anything other than the sharp edge of a sword. Kain's mouth twisted wryly. "I have inferred as to your lineage several times, yet been inaccurate each. Very well then: what are you?"

Raziel sighed. "I am as I have told you, Kain: a vampire. Not an ancient, not of Vorador's lineage, and from your future." Which left only one possibility, really, but he found he was loathe to say it out loud. "If you do not wish to believe the answers I give, that is, of course, your choice."

Kain's gaze sharpened. There were still vampires on Nosgoth, then, in his time. He'd not been certain, of course. He still carried a dual set of memories from his own time as a human -- he'd grown up in a world where vampires were rampant, and in a world where they hovered on the brink of extinction. But in each of these, he'd known vampires to be both resourceful and exceedingly resilient.

But what of the suddenly evasive elder before him? "And if you do not care to answer the question, that is also your choice," he said with a trace of cold amusement. Kain had reason anew to return to Nosgoth swiftly, though he ruthlessly quashed that faint glimmer of hope. "Where do I find your 'Powers'?"

Raziel shrugged. "There is one at the bathhouse just outside the city, there." He pointed in the direction of the hot springs where Haku resided. "Another is in the CDC—the large white building in the heart of the city. The others are harder to find—except for Q. All you need to do to see him is attempt to kill another Chosen, though I doubt it will be a pleasant experience." He wondered idly if Kain was truly so oblivious to the implications of Raziel's words ... or if the younger vampire simply did not truly wish to know.

Kain could not truly believe Raziel's allusion, the possibility that there might be others of his kind to have escaped the hunters' long pikes. Still... still. The number of times Kain had tried, and failed, to create fledglings of his own were... not worth counting. Perhaps in this way too, as an artificial creature created by Mortanius, Kain somehow varied from a typical vampire. Yet an exhaustive search of the Death Guardian's known haunts had yielded no evidence in that matter.

A 'Power' in a bathhouse seemed a hazardous foe -- water had never been kind to Kain. He'd stumbled into that particular weakness within minutes after wakening. The others -- "Difficult to find? Do they mew themselves in other dimensions?"

"I am not sure, but that seems as good an explanation as any." Raziel thought about what little he knew about the Powers. "Either they have mewed themselves away in places in this world that we cannot reach—which seems unlikely—or they have kept away from it entirely. We do know they can travel between worlds collecting their specimens, so it is not an idea entirely without merit."

"Then which among the Chosen, if any, posses the powers of a Planar? Have you sought their compliance?" Kain asked. The worst of the gouges had filled in to the point he might try walking, if gingerly.

A planar? "I have not met any Chosen that claimed to be able to walk between worlds, if that is what you mean," Raziel said. "There are more than a few magic-users and wizards, but none so far have claimed any such ability." Which did not mean they didn't exist—only that Raziel did not know of them.

Kain nodded. In this, at least, it seemed Raziel was willing to assist to the extent he was able. For now, that would be sufficient. "I have noted placards directing me to a 'library.' To whom does this repository of books belong? How does one gain access to them?"

Feeling somewhat vindicated by the fact that another Chosen had at least noticed the signs, if not necessarily followed them, Raziel said easily, "The Library belongs to the Powers of this place, if to anyone. There are no guards or gates to bar you from it—there are several other Chosen, in fact, who work inside and seem to make it their business to guide newcomers." Raziel wondered how they would take this new, much younger vampire. "The books on the main levels are as lacking as the false-humans of this place...they are mere constructs, put there for looks, not content. To gain anything of more substance, you must go down under the Library, and battle monsters for the tomes contained there."

The library sounded promising to Kain, even if its entire arrangement seemed far too convenient. But the bite of a trap knowingly entered often lacked for teeth -- this one could, perhaps, be worth tripping. Absently, Kain reached to touch the hilt of the Reaver, just lightly, with the tips of his fingers, recalling with displeasure its unquenched rage. "And these monsters, more soulless shells, I presume?"

Watching Kain's gesture, and knowing what his likely concern was, Raziel inclined his head. "For the most part, yes." His own wraithblade managed to devour what little soulstuff was given to the created beasts, but it was a trifling amount, in most cases. The Reaver's hunger...would likely continue. A cold shiver trickled down his spine at the memories that brought.

Kain needed little incentive to escape this realm quickly to begin with; Raziel's confirmation enforced that urgency. "What of the tracts, then? Have they proved utile in determining the Powers' motivations?"

Raziel eyed him. This was Kain...but he did not feel inclined to reveal *all* of his hard-won knowledge from the Under-Library just yet. He had, after all, paid for it in blood and effort, and was not about to reveal what he had learned unless it suited his purposes.

"They have ... somewhat. Winnowing the grain from the chaff has proved to be an ... extensive endeavor."

"...I see," Kain said thoughtfully. There seemed to be more to that than the ancient was willing to divulge -- he'd not press the issue. Yet.

"All indications considered, it seems the Powers employ their Chosen as pawns, as an immortal's amusement." Kain was not unfamiliar with the concept -- he'd done the same out of sheer boredom to lesser lords in his court at Coorhagen. He'd even played that distasteful part himself, at the hands of several manipulators. The mere possibility of a repetition of those events left him cold and seething.

"That would be a safe assumption, yes. I know of at least one who does," Raziel agreed. "Yet one would be wise not to assume that such petty sport is the sole driving force in their whims." He himself had been used as a pawn, over and over—and if there was one thing he had learned from the experience, it was that very little was ever as it seemed.

Kain nodded, considering that a point well taken -- the pillar guardians had been corrupted by lusts for power and devotion to false gods, among other things, all more serious than mere caprice. "Then in this inquiry, I will aid you," Kain said firmly, though he had to clench his teeth to keep from baring them at his inability to demand the other's compliance.

All this, of course, presuming the ancient's story held any truth.

Raziel could read well the frustration that lay underneath the seemingly generous offer. Torn between pleasure at the offer of aid and amusement at a fledgling Kain's frustrated pride, he chose to show neither. Instead he merely inclined his head in acceptance, and said, "Very well, then. Two sets of hands and eyes will certainly search more swiftly than one. I had not intended to head to the Library tonight, however—do you require a guide?"

"No. The placards are both abundant and clear," said Kain, only a little placated. He would need a way to confirm the elder's tale, plus time and magic enough to properly moor the beacon for a sanctuary -- provided anyplace safe for that existed. And... the faint scent of distant placeholders, even under the char and reek of burning, was beginning to grow... distracting.

If nothing else, this encounter made plain the hazards of being less than completely prepared for combat in this mad place... and for an expeditious retreat, should it prove unavoidable. If the other vampires among the Chosen were anything like Raziel... well. How many fantastically powerful beings could one city contain, after all?

"As you say," Raziel agreed, not bothering to mention that he had been the one to have the placards posted. "Then I shall take my leave of you for now, unless you have further questions to ask of me." An odd, slight smile quirked his lips as he surveyed Kain's still-scorched form, and added, "I am sure that you will have little trouble finding me, given sufficient motivation."

Kain nodded. He suspected he might be able to sense the other vampire, at least at a small distance -- now that he'd tasted it, the other vampire's aura was unmistakable. Still, from the little he'd seen, the city was truly vast -- "You may be sought in this area?" he asked.

"This is at the edge of the territory I often hunt, yes. My abode is further to the south and west, however." Raziel regarded the younger vampire for a moment, wondering if Kain would require official permission to enter, as had been the case with lesser vampires and opposing clan territories in the empire—or if he would be offended by the mere suggestion that he could not go where he willed.

Deciding to approach the subject obliquely, he said, "I have spent a certain amount of effort in eliminating Haven's petty nuisances from the areas immediately around my eyrie. Should you decide to approach, you should have little to fear from zombies, demons, and the like."

"You consider the skeletal black demons... nuisances," said Kain, flatly. That creature's foul blood had left him... well, 'poisoned' wasn't really the word for it. The rain of gore resulting from the Reaver's use had done worse.

Skeletal black demons? After a moment's thought, Raziel realized that Kain must be speaking of the 'xenomorph' creatures, and not the demons from Dante's world. He could see where they might have given a younger Kain difficulty, especially if no one had opportunity to warn him as Raziel had been.

"They are clever, true, but they are pedictable enough in their habits. There are...techniques I have used in combatting them. Their foulsome blood makes it wise to fight them at a distance." He dipped talons into his belt pouch—slowly, so that Kain did not think it an attack—and dug out an implode, displaying it in illustration. "These are most efficacious, if well aimed."

Kain nodded, though the sight of the small, faintly-fuming red orb made him tense. Opening the extra-dimensional pockets in which he stored his small remaining supply of such items took some little time -- he would never be able to access an energy bank in time, nor to shield himself, if Raziel chose to use the implode. He'd seen, and enjoyed, the effects of that particular artifact numerous times. "I am... familiar with those, yes. Are there other common enemies here with... disagreeable blood?"

Raziel shook his head, and put the implode away. "None so lethal, though most have blood that is ... unpalatable at best." But Kain should know well enough by now that he would not get any sustenance from zombies, and little to none from the demons and their ilk.

"My appreciation for the warnings," Kain said. And yet he could not fathom why Raziel would offer such assistance, particularly after Kain's assault. Vordor, in a timeline that hadn't really happened, had offered a certain amount of aid even after Kain had carved through a number of the elder vampire's fledglings; so he thought it possible that the motivations of very old vampires might be, to some degree, beyond his understanding.

But this was ... very different. Kain had never attacked Vorador directly. He had no frame of reference for this circumstance. "I expect I will seek you out shortly." Whether the elder's story proved false or not, Raziel would surely be central to Kain's plans.

Raziel's eyes caught on the hilt of the Reaver that jutted over Kain's shoulder, and he gave the younger vampire an ironic, fleeting smile. "Of that I have little doubt." He turned away, unfurling his wings. "Good eve ... and good hunting, Kain."

Something in that reply, that look, struck Kain as peculiar – to the extent that anything could be in comparison with this entire realm, of course. But then Raziel was moving, wings opening like paired switchblades, spreading ivory membrane. Firelight, refracted and filtered through the thin flesh, cast hints of shadows in deep cobalt blue.

And then the elder vampire crouched and _leapt_, vertically, four body lengths or more; clearing the flames, the wreckage, and even the tall lamp posts with singular skyward fluidity. Obstacles surpassed, Raziel snapped his wings to full extension and beat down hard, the sound leathery and taut as thunder. For the briefest of instants, the flaring yellow light caught on pale flesh and red fabric, and glinted gold off some edge of armor.

And just like that, the other vampire was gone in the darkness, beyond the reach of Kain's fire-blinded nightvision. Kain stood for a few moments longer, tracking the sound of wingbeats – muffled now with altitude and distance – until they cut off in a silent glide.

Kain let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and slowly unclenched his fist. This was quite possibly the most infuriating, enraging, demanding night of his entire existence... and it was far from over. The pain of gradually sealing wounds was both spur and shackle -- Kain would need to feed, find someplace to rest out the day, and then seek confirmation of Raziel's tale. There would be much to do before Kain could wreck vengeance upon the fabricators of this outlandish world.

But one concern at a time. Kain lowered his gaze, eyes narrowed against the light, to the pool of flames and the smoking lump near the center of the conflagration.

How, in all of Nosgoth, was he to retrieve his armor?


End file.
